What Happened to Becka?
by PunkWithoutWingz
Summary: From "The Ring". An account of what happens to Becka before Katie discovers Samara in her room. Ch2 up! Becka's Point of Veiw! R
1. She never sleeps

What Happened to Becca???  
  
It was close to 10:00 pm when Katie and Becca's laughter was cut short by the ominous phone ringing. Everything in the room seemed to stop, even the girl's breathing.  
  
"There really is a tape," Becca said quietly as the girls exchanged cautious glances. Katie broke her glaze with Becca to steal a glance at the luminous alarm clock on her bedside table. 10:00 exactly. She drew in a breath and the two of them stood and made their way to the door. They relaxed a little as they walked down the stairs to the phone. It was on it's fifth or sixth ring by now.  
  
When Becca rounded the corner to the kitchen, she noticed Katie's hand poised just above the phone on the wall as it continued to ring. Exasperated, she waited for her friend to pick it up, but she just stood there. Becca sighed and pushed past her, grabbing the phone and answering it.  
  
Katie watched Becca's eyes grow warily and she wished Becca would tell her who it was.  
  
"It's for you," Becca muttered, handing the phone over to her.  
  
"H-hello?" Katie stuttered into the receiver. "Oh, hi mom." She relaxed as Becca snickered and walked to the fridge.  
  
After checking out its contents, she made her way back up to Katie's room. As she reached the top of the stairs, she began to since that ominous feel to the atmosphere again. It was the same as when the phone had begun ringing, but this time much stronger. In order to gain control of her mind, Becca began talking to herself. She made her way down the hallway, gently turning the knob on Katie's door and sighing with relief. Besides a noticeable drop in temperature, everything was as it had been. Shivering, Becca pulled back the covers on Katie's bed and crawled into the bed. She turned the tv on to one of her favorite cartoons and got comfortable. All of a sudden, the TV turned off as if the cord had been pulled from the wall.  
  
"Maybe it fell out." Becca muttered, and slid out of the bed. The room had grown colder, even since she'd been in it. She bent down to see the plug in place, and jumped as she heard the TV turn back on. Now her show was gone and was replaced with a snowy screen and blaring static.  
  
"Dammit!" she whispered, hitting the TV and cursing it. Suddenly it stopped, and a black and white horror film appeared on the screen. The room got a little colder. The atmosphere.a little damper. Becca sat down on the bed and yanked the covers up over her knees. The picture on the screen didn't seem to move. There was a well in the middle of a clearing, and that was all.or was that a hand? Yes.it was. A sickeningly white hand, one that would belong to a waterlogged corpse.  
  
Following it was another hand, and then a head of black hair. The figure slumped out of the well and started walking towards the screen.  
  
"Oh please," Becca muttered and grabbed the remote. She hit the "channel up" button, but nothing happened. She hit it again, but the figure only kept walking, hair draping it's entire head.  
  
Becca became frantic as she continued to press buttons, any buttons on the remote. There was nothing. She just got closer.and closer.and-  
  
She was right there. Becca tried to scream, but a hand shot out of the screen and covered Becca's mouth. She could smell the decay and feel the cold. It was the coldest thing she'd ever felt. It sucked away her breath and everything she knew. She grew so dizzy that she barely noticed the figure now standing above her. She never saw its face. Fighting to stay conscious, Becca stared up at the girl.  
  
"I do want to hurt people," came a mischievous voice from beneath the tangled hair, "and I'm sorry." Becca never slept again.  
  
Epilogue  
  
The doctors watched the live recordings that surveillance cameras in Becca's room had captured.  
  
"I told you," said one of them, "she doesn't sleep."  
  
"It appears so," said the second doctor, "but if that is the case, than how to you explain her living. People who live.well.. sleep."  
  
"I don't know," the first doctor replied. "What do you make of it." Both men turned to a third elderly man that stood behind them.  
  
"Samara."the man said under his breath.  
  
"Excuse me?" the second doctor said.  
  
"We had a case like this once before..Samara. She never slept..but she..conjured up these pictures. Has the patient..come up with any drawings or photos?"  
  
"No sir," both men said warily. "But she has spoken of Samara," one of the men added. "She said it was 'Samara's fault'. What do you make of it all?" Once again, they turned to the elderly doctor.  
  
"I think," the man said slowly, "that your patient got away."  
  
"What." They turned around to face the security screens. The live footage of Becca's room held no one in it. The doctors began asking around to see if anyone had come in and gotten her. They got the same answer. "No. I'm sorry. I haven't seen her this morning."  
  
They rushed to Becca's room and unlocked the door. There was no one in it. There was no sign of escape. There was nothing. Police and detectives were called. The room was full of people testing for fingerprints and investigating every nook and cranny in the bare room. The elderly doctor paused and stared out the window. Suddenly, he heard- from far away, from within the walls, from someone standing right behind him, from everywhere- the voice of Samara, innocent and mischievous in all it's irony.  
  
"I don't make the pictures. I see them.and then they just..are." 


	2. Becka's Hell

Becka's Point of Veiw  
Every night, she talks to me. She lives through me, taking advantage of my fragile condition. I can't comprehend the simple things of life anymore. I can barely comprehend holding a spoon to my lips and feeding myself to stay alive. Fear and paranoia is all I know, but she is, at the same time, the most extraordinary person I have ever known.  
  
Of course, Samara is misunderstood by most, but we have a certain understanding with each other. A common bond, if you will. She tells me I could speak for her. I could be her eyes and she could be my mind. This suggestion terrifies and excites me at the same time, but also leaves me numb. As I said, fear and paranoia are all I know. I always did wonder what went on in the mind of a mentally unstable person, and perhaps now I know. Perhaps this is what it is like, or perhaps there is still a chance for me. Perhaps she is just keeping me in this state of mind where I am weak and impressionable, like a small child. I now accept many things that I would not in my right state of mind, such as death caused by a videotape. I also understand how that videotape was made, though it would be much too hard to explain it to you. You see, you do not share the common bond. Your mind, though more advanced than mine, could not comprehend such things. There is none other alive that can, but her.  
  
I suppose that brings me to where I am now, standing before the very well that brought Samara to her physical end. An end that she met by the hands of her own mother, driving her mind further away from the socially acceptable thoughts of humanity. I am not sure how I got here. I am not sure if I am alive. I sense foreboding as my hands instinctively reach out and grip the cold stone. As I touch it, I can feel Samara's thoughts the many times she climbed from this well to meet her pray. I lean slowly over the well, peering down into it's depths.  
  
"Do you think I am still down there after all this time?" comes a voice from behind me. Just by Samara's tone I can tell that she fell from the ledge of sanity long ago, and this frightens me. The fear lets me know that I am not just like her. Not yet.  
  
I spin around to face her. Her face is a sight for sore eyes, for my eyes do hurt just to look at her. I gulp and stare at my feet.  
  
"This place does not exist," she says in a filthy monotone of insanity. "I have put you here because you can understand things when they have surroundings. You remember this, don't you Becka?" The sound of my name on her lips makes a dry sob escape from my chest. "Of course you do." She turns and begins to walk away.  
  
"Wait!" I call helplessly. "Where am I?"  
  
I hear her turn around, here the gentle swoosh of her black hair, draped down the sides of her face like dark trails of blood. "I told you" she says, "I brought you here because you can understand it. You are in my mind."  
  
I shudder and feel another sob threatening to surface. My mind cannot comprehend this, as I'm sure yours cannot either. You don't know her. To be inside her mind is to have already died inside with no hope left for you. I am damned. This time she turns to walk away and I let here, standing in silent shock. I would have chosen hell over this blind fear.  
  
I never did explain why I was brought here, or why I think I was at least. A copy of the tape can save you, she once told me. I didn't understand how. In fact, I don't believe anyone does. I just know it is that way, and that she knows. That is what Samara wishes. The death of Rachel and her son Ayden, because they know. They have taken the powers of the tape into their own hands, and this does not please Samara, and when she is not pleased watching the tape is not the only way to die. 


End file.
